


we have re-started, shaky again

by meowrails



Series: we're going to start again [1]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Bittersweet, Blow Jobs, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:24:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowrails/pseuds/meowrails
Summary: “You love me.”Wong regretted facing him, he regretted it all. He widened his eyes, looking tortured and vulnerable -- as if the thought of it has haunted him enough. He parted his lips and breathed.“Yes.” His voice felt like a whisper. “I do.”(Based solely on comic book Stephen/Wong, only placing it in the movie tag so more can see)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I HAD to write this
> 
> I'm tagging this as the movie so more people can see, but this is 100% based off comic book Wong and Stephen from the current run up until issue #18.
> 
> No warnings that I can think of, just bittersweet emotions.
> 
> Title inspired by this poem [ here ](http://brotticelli.tumblr.com/post/152726789910/letters-to-virginia-mcp-a-blackout-poem)
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!

The last thing Stephen expected when he defeated Misery, when Wong was released from the being’s clutches and the entity of suffering was locked once more, was for his dearest friend to ask him for a drink.

Stephen had his trouble with alcohol before, albeit very brief, and tried to keep his drinking reserved only for difficult times, or celebrations. Truthfully, he should have gone cold turkey completely, The Ancient One would warn him about using magic under the influence of any substance. Then again, there was no magic left to use and far too many difficult times ahead of them. Wong would usually stay away from it, probably because of his upbringing back in Kamar-Taj, but being around Stephen and living in New York City for so long had changed the man’s views on indulging on a occasional drink. 

Not to mention that just hours ago he was being controlled by a creature made purely of the most terrible and morbid thoughts known to man, worse than any demon that had tried to do the same. Stephen had to fight his best friend’s body, earning him bruises on his body and a cut to his lip that will certainly be swollen by tomorrow.

They could really use some fucking whiskey.

They were in the living room, or at least the part of the living room that had been the least destroyed. Zelma had been dismissed for the day, telling her that they needed some time by themselves. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t respond with a smart quip or a clever point that would make Stephen feel stupid, or angry, and simply left after giving them a simple goodbye. For once, Stephen was serving their drinks, trembling hands allowing some of the amber liquid to spill to the floor. He gave his friend an apologetic look -- Wong was sitting on his chair, face in his hands, and glanced at the stain in the carpet. He closed his eyes again, he could ignore Stephen’s disability and messiness just this once. 

He took the glass from his friend’s shaking hands with a small ‘ _ thank you _ ’. In mandarin, he noticed. He rarely heard his friend speak in his native tongue lately.

Stephen sat next to him and decided then and there that he wouldn’t sleep or leave his side tonight. Not like he was sleeping much these days anyway, but he hated seeing Wong like this, clearly shaken about what happened. They didn’t talk about things, a long time ago they formed an unspoken agreement not to do so. But that had always been for his bullshit, his own problems that never seemed to leave him be. Wong was honest, he never hesitated to tell Stephen to pull himself back together, or would be the one to get him back up piece by piece.

Perhaps this time he could return the favor. It was the least he could do.

Wong had already drank his own glass empty while his own was still half-full. He served the man some more, thought less than last time. Wong’s lips curved faintly upwards as a splash of whiskey fell on his fingers instead of on the glass. Stephen wiped it with his own shirt -- not the most sanitary way of dealing with things, but when has he ever been sanitary?

Wong drank and didn’t comment on it.

“Do you remember anything? From before the exorcism?” It wasn’t the most pleasant question to ask, even he knew that, but any remnants of Misery’s effects would have to be cleansed. Wong spoke without looking at him, watching as the whiskey in his cup swirled as he moved the glass.

“Barely, you were thorough. I still feel... as it did, but I do not think I remember much. Even if I did, I am not interested in looking through those memories.” They locked eyes. Wong was usually so stoic -- Stephen didn’t know how to deal with his friend looking so guilty. “I tried to kill you, didn’t I?”

Stephen placed a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “No, Misery did. You did nothing wrong, you were only trying to protect me. He fooled you, it isn’t your fault.”

The man closed his eyes. “I should have known better than to struck a deal with such a creature, I was a fool. He made me hurt you.”

It wouldn’t be the first time, actually. He remembered their falling out after Imei’s death vividly. He’d never seen Wong so angry, he doesn’t think he had since then. But that had been his fault, Wong had no reason to ever feel guilty. 

“Just barely, thankfully. I’ve been through worse--We’ve been through worse. Wong, trust me when I say that you are not at fault here. I created him, if anything you should be angry at me.”

Wong opened his mouth to speak, but ended up downing his drink once more. Stephen did the same, already feeling light-headed. Wong was probably feeling the same way. Again, they only just recently started doing this more often.

“I couldn’t never been that angry at you. I angry at myself for not being stronger, for not being able to resist him.” His grip tightened around his glass until his knuckles were white against olive skin. Stephen moved closer. “I almost killed you.”

By the Vishanti, this wasn’t working. Everything Stephen said was making his friend more distressed. He gave him a soft smile. “Hey, I don’t think  _ I  _ would have been strong enough to push him off, especially with magic being the way it is now. If our roles would have been reversed, you would have defended yourself. Kicked me in the face, even, and I wouldn’t mind.”

Wong turned to him, his voice came out slurred. “I don’t think I could, not even if you were in that form. When I was younger, I was always told that I might have to hurt the Sorcerer Supreme in extreme situations... Or even worse.” He clenched his jaw. “I couldn’t. I won’t.”

Stephen’s hand, which had been resting over Wong’s back this entire time, started to move in slow circles. His fingers drew calming runes over the expanse of his friend’s shirt. They did nothing, of course. If they would, his fingers would be glowing and Wong would be almost asleep. If his hands were stronger, he would try to give Wong a massage just like the ones he would do for him in stressful nights. He just hoped his friend would appreciate the sentiment. 

“I know,” He continued to move his fingertips. Wong visibly relaxed ever so slightly and leaned back to the touch. “That’s why I told Zelma what to do, in case anything happens. That’s why I gave her a gun.”

My gods, those were probably the worst words he could have chosen, because all the relaxation Wong had felt in the few seconds before he spoke was immediately gone. He grabbed Stephen by his collar, voice now steady and low. “Do not say that. Do not speak of that. She wouldn’t hurt you either, and you aren’t dying in such a pitiful way. There is no dignity in a sorcerer dying from a bullet.”

Stephen could feel the man’s breath close to him, smelling like alcohol and soft herbs from the bath he had taken earlier to clean off all the grime and slime left behind by Misery. He gulped -- he agreed with Wong, of course. Stephen wanted to die the way that stars exploded into supernovas. He tried not to think about that now.

“Sorry,” He mumbled. Wong let go of his shirt collar, resting his hand on Stephen’s chest instead, another hand holding an empty glass. “Let’s talk about something else.”

He was sure Wong could feel his heart, beating faster than usual. Why was it? Was it because of the hand against his chest, the sort of touch he hasn’t felt in ages from no one else but him? Was it because of his nervousness, how the feeling seemed to leave his reality at the illusion of being strong, and only now was the sudden vulnerability making him shudder in realization? Stephen did not know, but he’d been on this earth long enough to know that the tension in the air that surrounded them was thick enough to cut open and hide inside it.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt like this, the first time he’d realized that there was something. Something lingering between them, something lurking in in their shadows, and for once it wasn’t going to kill them. (Or perhaps it could. Stephen never knew.)

But with the attacks on the Sanctum, their home, the disappearance of magic, and with Clea’s sudden appearance just a week ago, he’d been too preoccupied to remember it existed. 

Wong nodded, “Alright.” It seemed like neither of them actually knew what to talk about. Not that Wong was constantly starting light talk or idle conversations, and Stephen was terrible at this now.

After another round of whiskey, their hollow chatter filled the room, discussing possible spells they could attempt to do that could somehow still work, and hidden artifacts that might retain some magic in them. It was all wishful thinking, most of what he had left he’d used up banishing Dormmamu with Mordo’s help. He still didn’t understand why the man did that, and now he was gone, thanks to Zelma’s quick thinking. He told the story to Wong, who smiled at Mordo’s own small banishment, clearly proud of Zelma, who he’d sort of taken under his wing.

In the next round, they were huddled even closer together, knees touching and speech low and slurred, as if they were afraid that something inside the house might hear them. That Zelma might appear though the door and hear their conversation. It was nothing important, they were only speaking about Stephen’s new beard, of all things.

“I miss the goatee, actually.” Wong admitted. Stephen threaded a hand over his chin. He’d trimmed it recently, thankfully enough. He was starting to look like a lumberjack, only scrawnier and not exactly the fashionable, sexy hipster kind. Wong had helped him with that, now that he thought about it. 

“I thought about going for a new look, been rocking that goatee for way too long now.” Stephen huffed.

“Like I said, I liked it. It suits you well.” He tilted his head to the side. “But this looks good. Just, please, don’t shave it all off.”

Stephen snorted at the thought, he hasn’t gone completely clean shaven in years. Decades, actually. “What if I shave it all off, and you grow a beard?”

That earned him a disgusted look from his friend. “No, thank you. I don’t even think I can grow one.”

“What if you grew your hair long again? Like, really long.” The sorcerer ended the sentence with a yawn. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Wong lied, giving him a coy look. It was a look he should show more often. He only ever saw it directed at him, without any ill-intent behind it.

Stephen hummed. “I’ve seen the pictures of you, running around Kamar-Taj as a teenager with that long hair, causing trouble with the other monks. Don’t act so high and mighty.”

Wong smiled as he pressed his lips to his glass, forgetting it was now empty. “I doubt you were much better in your youth.”

“I was voted ‘Most Likely to Succeed’, actually. I was a bit of a nerd.”

“A bit?”

“Shut up.”

They were laughing, actually laughing now. Light-headed and tipsy from the whiskey in their brains. He didn’t realize how close they were, breaths that tasted of alcohol and green tea hitting each other in the few inches that separated their heads. 

Eyes locked and knowing, Stephen decided that yeah, he could use this tonight. It’s been ages since he’d had someone, not since the women he slept with that lead to Clea leaving. 

He hated thinking about her, it made bile rise up his throat in shame. He fingered the ring on his finger, twirling it around as he stared at Wong. Part of him felt infidel again just from the way that Wong looked at him, eyes hungry and half-lidded. He’d never seen the other man like this. Was it the alcohol, or had he just then paid attention? The other part of him, the one that was selfish and impulsive, needed it. Enjoyed the attention. He had a good premonition when it came to these sort of things, and the way he was being stared at was nothing short of seductive.

Clea deserved better anyway. He thought their meeting would end poetically, past-lovers meeting again in a flurry of passion. He’d forgotten life just wasn’t poetic -- he was still a mess and she had moved on, radiant and cosmic, to far for him to reach.

He loved thinking about her. Gods, he still did.

Stephen needed to distract himself from this shit again, by any means necessary. The thought of her arrival still continued his mind. If it wasn’t for the Emperikul and Misery, and Dormammu and Mordo and now whatever the hell the Avengers were up to, it would be the only thing on his mind. Actually, it was, in the moments where he was free not to think about anything, she would appear in his brain like an angel. Or a parasite. Stephen much preferred dealing with the latter, at least that one could be removed from his brain one and for good.

His eyes glanced down to Wong’s plump lips -- he was serving himself more whiskey, and had licked them after drinking once more. Stephen’s own lips parted on their own accord at the sight, almost on instinct. He noticed Wong’s eyes glance down to do the same, then look away.

Right, he was doing this. He didn’t want to spend the night alone anymore -- and here was Wong, pretty (was he always this pretty?) and interested. He was doing this. 

“Wong,” He muttered, getting his friend’s full attention once more. A trembling hand reached out to take Wong’s glass away, placing it to the side. He noticed Wong’s brows curve upwards, worried and confused.

Stephen got off his chair moved to kneel between his friends legs, looking at the man with the most comforting smile he could muster. He placed either of his hands on Wong’s knees, and heard the man let out a small sound. “Wong...”

He licked his lips before answering, a sight that Stephen could very much get used to. “Yes, Stephen?”

“Do you wanna take this to your bedroom?”

He considered going to his own room at first, his bed was bigger, but there were too many memories inside those walls.

Wong was wide eyed, hands atop his thighs, threaded together as if he was restraining himself. “I.... Yes.”

Neither of them moved, until Stephen leaned his head forward, lips grazing against Wong’s, still not kissing him. They stared at each other, neither of them dared closed their eyes at that moment. His tongue made contact with Wong’s bottom lip, teasing, almost mockingly. 

Wong brought Stephen’s face closer to his, either of his hands holding the sorcerer’s cheeks, and kissed him. Deeply, desperately -- Stephen ended up straddling the man’s legs.

Their eyes were still open, checking for hints that this might be a bad idea. Until Stephen pressed his knee between Wong’s legs, causing the other to melt beneath him, eyes now closed and parting himself from Stephen. He was panting, his cheeks were blushing madly against olive skin, all from just a kiss. How long has it been since Wong did this?

He licked his lips, “We should move somewhere... more comfortable.” Wong nodded.

The wall over to his room felt tense. His friend was looking behind him to meet his eyes constantly. Stephen was having none of it, he wanted this night to be good for both of them. Simple. He placed his hands on Wong’s hips once they reached the door, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of the man’s neck and sucked. When he looked down at the red mark, he saw goosebumps.

Wong was struggling to open his room, he heard a subtle gasp escape his lips. Stephen wished he had his magic again, so he could open the door as he touched Wong with just the flick of a wrist, or made a portal straight to the bed -- that would be cool.  

When they entered the room, Stephen expected his friend to shove him to the wall and kiss him in a flurry of desperation, pinning him to the bed and having his way with him.

It was what he imagined.

In reality, the man was undoing his clothes slowly, pressing kisses to his wrist, his collarbone, his chest -- now bare before him. Stephen gulped and felt Wong run his delicate fingers over his hairy chest, a dreamy look on his face, enjoying the sight of his scarred, hairy body that Stephen didn’t really see the appeal in.

His hand trailed to the sorcerer’s trousers, which were really just yoga pants -- after wearing tights for so long he can’t really get used to wearing jeans for too long. Wong seemed to appreciate it, he palmed Stephen momentarily and pressed his lips to his shoulder.

“May I?” He asked, always so well-mannered and kind. It reminded him off --

He cleared his throat. “Go ahead.”

Wong lowered his pants and widened his eyes. Oh, right, he wasn’t wearing underwear. 

“Stephen...” He had his head resting on the sorcerer’s shoulder, one hand on Stephen lower back to steady him, the other stroking his cock, half-hand and interested. He’s partly surprised that he got so excited so quickly, it’s been ages since he’d been with another guy. But he was needy and drunk, and Wong’s hands were extremely soft. 

It’s not the first time they’ve seen each other naked, but Gods was seeing him like this doing something to Wong. And in return doing things to him. He felt the man press his tongue to his nipple and he moaned, somehow knowing how sensitive they were. Stephen closed his eyes and bucked his hips into Wong’s fist.

“Can I put you in my mouth?” He asked, voice trembling. Stephen didn’t need to be asked twice.

“Yeah. Yes, of course.” He slurred out and just then realized that Wong had gotten on his knees in front of him, looking at his cock adoringly. A tongue licked a stripe up to his slit and he actually saw Wong smile as he did so. Stephen’s cheeks were already red from the alcohol, but as his friend’s lips enveloped the head of his cock, bobbing on it and hollowing his cheeks all the while their eyes were locked, his face probably turned red.

“Shit, Wong --” He moved his hips forward, trying to get his friend to take in all of him. He heard the other man gag. “S-Sorry.”

Wong pulled away from his cock, panting and trying to regain his breath, a bit of drool on the corner of his lips. “You don’t have to--”

“I want to.” Wong said sternly. “I need to.”

_ Vishanti save him. _ He watched as Wong spit on his cock, stroked him, then took him in again, this time trying to get him as deep as possible and making wonderful noises. Stephen felt his legs begin to tremble. Even with his eyes closed again, he could feel Wong’s eyes on him, watching him crumble.

“I’m gonna... finish,” He muttered out between harsh breaths. Wong pulled off again and began to lick his slit, pushing him even closer to the edge. 

“On my face, please.”

Stephen whimpered, genuinely whimpered, and did as Wong wished, hot white stripes painting his friend’s lips and cheeks. He cleaned it up before Stephen leaned over to lick it off. What a shame.

He noticed Wong’s cock, straining against his pants. Wong reached a hand between his legs and squeezed, his face panting against Stephen’s hips.

“Let me help you with that, get on the bed.”

Wong obliged, diligently taking off his clothes as Stephen loomed over him. He noticed Wong buck his hips to meet his own and shudder. “Stephen, oh. Stephen...”

Straddling Wong’s hips, he took his friend’s hand and guided it to his ass, feeling the man squeeze. “I want to ride you. Wanna... have your cock inside me and let you fuck me.”

Wong almost melted, face lit up and half-lidded as if he was in a dream. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Stephen arched his back. “Want you to cum inside me. Wong, fuck.”

Thankfully enough, his friend had a natural oil in his bedside table. “Could you lay on your back?”

The sorcerer bit his lip and rested against the mattress, spreading his legs for Wong. He hadn’t been joking about Wong’s hands, how nice they felt as they coated his hole with oil. Stephen hummed in pleasure and spread his legs wider. One of his own hands toying with his nipple. “Feels good.”

Wong slipped in a finger inside him and they both groaned. It has been so long,  _ so long _ , since he’d been fingered and fucked. He forgot how much he loved it. “That’s it.” He slurred encouragingly. “Stretch me out.”

“The things you say, Stephen...” 

“Like it when I talk?” He smirked. “I gotta warn you, ‘m loud.”

Wong pressed in another finger and started to scissor him open, Stephen proved his point and whined. His friend kissed his inner thigh. “I know, I have heard you. You make glorious sounds.” 

Stephen bucked his hips at the praise, whimpering again. “How often?”

“Quite often. I... hear you when you are in the bathroom. Or in your room, alone at night.” His breathing became ragged, so was his. “Always accidents... I tried not to listen.”

He wanted him  _ now _ . Stephen stopped touching his chest to beckon Wong closer to him, trembling fingers urging him to get closer and kiss him again. There was still a good amount of alcohol in his system, making him feel light headed and slurring both of their words, nowhere near as eloquent as a Sorcerer Supreme should usually be -- but he felt drunk on  _ this _ . On Wong gentleness, each other said in his soft, accented voice that Stephen had never noticed could sound so alluring. 

There were a lot of things about him he hadn’t noticed.

Stephen ran his hands through his hair. “Wong, just fuck me already. I’m ready.”

His friend gently inserted a third finger, still easing him open. He was tight, extremely so, but  _ fuck _ , was he desperate. “Shh -- I am not going to hurt you again. Wait, I am almost done.” 

He opened his mouth to speak then closed it, a warm feeling blooming in his chest, his face burning red again. He blamed it on the fact that Wong found his prostate, and was smiling fondly against his thigh as he arched his back and gasped.

Did the guy want him to beg? Stephen was ready to put on a show, ask for his cock in his nicest voice, the one that  _ she _ liked, that most people liked. He was about to speak, clever words already forming in his mouth, when Wong finally took out his fingers, making him feel hollow again. He whined again, holding the pillow for a second before sitting up to position himself so he could ride Wong.

A hand came to his shoulder, stopping him. “I would prefer to take you, actually. Let me do the work.”

Stephen chuckled, “You’ve done enough today, Wong. Consider this is my treat.”

Wong leaned in closer, pressing a kiss on the corner of his lips. “Having you like this is already a treat. I want to take care of you. I like it.”

Stephen face was burning. He nodded dumbly, Wong’s hand trailed down to hold his hip. “How do you want to be?”

The sorcerer thought for a second, thought it felt almost impossible to do so when his cock was so hard and dripping pre-cum on the sheets. “Uh, on my knees.”

Wong nodded. If he was disappointed that he couldn’t look at Stephen, he didn’t show it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to look at his friend while getting fucked, but it had been a while -- it just to be safe.

Stephen got on his knees in front of Wong, his head resting on the man’s pillow. His trembling hand cooperated for once and he held himself open. He heard Wong gasp and say something in mandarin that he didn’t catch as he applied just a bit more oil to his hole. “You are a sight to behold.”

He flinched, imperceptibly. He didn’t know how to feel about the praise. Wong pressed a soothing hand to the back of his head, stroking his hair, the head of his cock pressed against his entrance. Stephen arched his back and moved into it, desperate to be filled again and buried to the hilt. When he has, the two of them gasped in unison.  _ Finally _ .

Wong’s hand went to grab at Stephen’s thigh -- he felt it was trembling. He heard his friend take deep breaths, composing himself, before moving into him with steady, slow thrusts. Stephen almost drooled, it felt amazing. It had been far too long since he’d indulged in this.

“You feel good,” Wong groaned, his forehead resting on Stephen’s upper back. “Tight.” 

The man was losing his eloquence at the pleasure. Stephen was already babbling at him, a litany of begging and commands falling from his lips. “Harder, come on. Oh, Vishati.  _ Please _ .”

Wong ignored his pleas for once and continued to move slowly, tenderly, hitting his prostate every time, until Stephen became a puddle of need. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at Wong. He was kneeling upright behind him now, thrusting into him, eyes closed in concentration and pleasure, toned, olive skin shining with sweat. 

He could definitely get used to this. They could make this an arrangement, every couple of nights. He was sure Wong would enjoy it.

He’d missed having someone inside him so badly. No one had done this since --

“Stephen,  _ oh.”  _ Wong let out, it almost sounded like high-pitched gasp. Stephen couldn’t take it anymore, he moved back into Wong’s cock, matching his rhythm.

Wong pressed a quick kiss to his back and  _ fucked him.  _ Wrapping his arms around his waist and moving into him like he was being mounted. Stephen almost cried, completely losing control and making a helpless sound with every thrust. He forgot how strong Wong was sometimes, how the man could beat down a dozen men at once. His eyes rolled back, spit drooling off the corner of his lips, taken aback in the wonderful feeling. He was so close, about to ruin Wong’s perfectly ironed sheets and have the man cum inside him, fill him up and use him.

Stephen reached down a hand to stroke himself, desperate and without any sort of rhythm. Wong slapped his hand away and did it himself. “I will take care of you.  _ Oh,  _ fuck. Please, I can do this.”

Stephen crinkled his brows together and moaned, “You do. Y-You’re so fucking good at this. Shit, why did you never fuck me before?”

He feels like the man is about to answer, but he came instead, spilling inside him. He pulls out quickly after, Stephen can feel the man’s cum drip down his thighs. It’s so much, how long has he been holding this back? He whimpered and covered Wong’s hand with his own to make him keep stroking him. He wanted to finish already.

“Wong-- Wong, talk to me.” He gasped out.

His friend was looming above him, staring at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “You... look beautiful like this.”

Stephen gritted his teeth to keep himself from making more noise.

“So wanton, shaking. I could have you like this every night. I wish I could.”

Stephen wanted to tell him that he could, that they could do this whenever he wanted. This was the best distraction he never knew he needed. 

He doubled over, feeling himself falling over the edge. “ _ Fuck _ .”

“Stephen --” Wong moaned. “Doctor Strange...” 

That was it, that was all he needed. 

He came into Wong’s hand with a groan, swat dripping from his temple and moaning out a name.

“Clea, oh gods.  _ Clea _ .”

He didn’t even notice that Wong had stopped moving his hand, that the world had shifted beneath his feet.

He didn’t notice that it wasn’t his ex-wife who had made him orgasm until later, when Wong was cleaning off the cum from his thighs and stomach.

When he did, he didn’t look back at him, just curled up on the bed, facing forward in terror and shame. 

He wished he hadn’t glanced back. They locked eyes, Stephen’s wide-eyed and worried ones meeting Wong’s stoic face. He would have preferred the man to be angry, seething with it just like when he let his fiancé die. He would had preferred Wong shouting, kicking him out of his room. He would have preferred Wong laughing at him, at the ring he still wore on his hand, his never ending longing that he couldn’t escape from, calling him pathetic.

No. Instead, Wong was quiet once more, looking away from him a second later. He looked defeated. Fuck, he felt like such an asshole.

“Wong, wait -- let me explain.”

Wong sitting on the corner of the bed, his back facing him. He didn’t move, nor did he say anything. 

“You know how I’ve been since she came out. I’m sorry, buddy, I was thinking of you, I promise.”

Wong’s body slumped even more, shoulders shaking. “Was this... a one night ordeal?”

Stephen clenched his jaw. “I mean, if you don’t want it to be. I was thinking this could be a sort of arrangement, do this when we need it.”

“Out of pity?”

He sighed. “No, ‘cause I thought... we could both need it.”

Wong answered with a restrained voice. “I see...”

He wanted to press a comforting hand, wanted to say something that could fix this mess. But Wong pressed his face to his hands, looking exactly like he did when they first started this night, miserable. They had made the mistake of finding solace in each other, groping their bodies to find something to live for.

“Are you... alright with the arrangement?”

“I did not think it was an arrangement. I did not come to bed with you thinking of any sort of contract.”

Shit.  _ Shit _ . Stephen almost punched the bed, or the wall, but he’d learned that lesson in his early days of magic. It had all been staring at him in the face all along, how the hell was he so oblivious.

He reached out this time, placing a hand on Wong’s shoulder, but the man flinched at the touch, begrudgingly accepting it. Stephen moved it away -- he never wanted to make Wong feel that way again. 

“You thought this was something more.” He said, it wasn’t a question.

Wong didn’t seem like he wanted to speak any further. “Yes.”

His friend turned to face him, trying to find a way to excuse himself from all of this. Wong didn’t  _ do _ these sort of conversations. Neither did he. These days, the two of them would just repress these emotions and take them to the grave. 

He was tired of that.

“You love me.”

Wong regretted facing him, he regretted it all. He widened his eyes, looking tortured and vulnerable -- as if the thought of it has haunted him enough. He parted his lips and breathed.

“Yes.” His voice felt like a whisper. “I do.”

Stephen wished he had planned something to say afterward.

Worst of all, Wong was still watching him, his expression growing more hurt by the second. Stephen couldn’t look at him anymore, or else all the alcohol he had drank earlier would threaten to come back our his mouth. He wasn’t disgusted at him but,  _ fuck _ , was he not prepared for this.

“Stephen?” Wong shuffled where he sat. “Say something.”

He took note of the man not saying  _ please  _ afterwards, it was nothing short of an order.

Stephen closed his eyes. He had two things he could say -- either the truth, and have Wong suffer through living the rest of his days beside him in pain, or even worse, leave him alone. Or he could lie and have someone to wake up with in the morning and lay beside with at night.

He didn’t want to feel so alone anymore.

“I... I love you too.” Stephen croaked out. Wong glared at him, boring into him like a dozen knives. He probably would have prefered the knives.

“I thought you would know better than to lie to me, Strange.”

The man knew him far too well.

“I’m sorry.” Stephen hid his hands behind his back, wishing he had his gloves this time. It’s been awhile since he wore them, but suddenly they were shaking too much for his own liking. “I can try. I’d like to try with you.”

Wong looked at him, face unreadable and silent. Stephen crawled to him. “I want to try.” He pressed a kiss to Wong’s temple. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Long enough for it to feel like forever.”

Stephen felt his face being held, two smaller, delicate hands pulling him close. He thought it was for a kiss, but the man rested his forehead against his own, like they would after bruised and difficult battles they fought together. Like they would do back in Kamar-Taj after sparring. It was supposed to help them form a brotherly bond, help them trust each other so they would get used to each other’s company once Stephen became Sorcerer Supreme.

He wondered what the Ancient One would think of him now.

Stephen brushed a scarred thumb over Wong’s cheekbone. The man leaned into his hand, like a cat accepting a touch, eyes still downcast and sad. Perhaps he just couldn’t help it. 

“I don’t want you to do this out of pity for me.”

“It isn’t.” It was only a half-lie this time. He wanted to make this work, he didn’t want to lose his friend. 

Or else he would be in the Sanctum, alone. He used to feel alone even when Wong was the only one beside him. He was the only one who always stuck by, even in his worse moments, even in his deaths and rebirths, holding him tightly and putting him back together, piece by piece, until he would eventually shatter once more. Like a vicious circle, or a pattern.

How often had he ignored what was plain in sight?

Stephen was still running a soothing thumb over Wong’s cheek, watching at the other man’s eyes dropped, almost hypnotic. He pulled the man closer against his chest and slumped on the mattress. Wong moved until he was on top of the Sorcerer, toned yet skinnier legs wrapped around pale, stronger ones. Both scarred, of course, there was no such thing as a unbroken sorcerer. 

Tomorrow, they had to wake up at the brink of dawn and continue fixing the Sanctum, their home. Tomorrow, they would have to  continue to scour the world for any remaining magic, desperate to return back to their strange normality.

Tonight, he continued to test how Wong’s name felt in his mind while the other man listened to his heartbeat in silence, fingers threading through the curled, black hair on his chest. 

“Wong,” He murmured, looking at the ceiling. “I... I don’t know why I was thinking of her.”

He didn’t even pause to think about it, as if Wong had planned this answer before. “Of course you do, you still love her.”

His voice held nothing behind it, it was unreadable. Stephen always thought Wong liked Clea, he thought they were friends. He wondered then if he always secretly hated her, deep down, bitter that she got his heart and not him.

No. Wong is too kind, he’s not cruel and stupid like he is.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize for something you cannot control.”

Sometimes Stephen really wished the man would get angry at him, truthfully angry. He deserved it.

“If I had known sooner... We could have worked something out. The three of us.”

He waited a while for an answer.

“I like having you all for myself.”

_ Oh. _

Stephen shifted beneath Wong, heat rushing to his face. Wong didn’t even move.

Time passed, only the sound of their breathing filling the room. Eventually, Wong fell asleep on top of him, clearly in deep slumber. Stephen didn’t want to accidentally wake him up, leaving him trapped under the man’s weight. 

Forced to spend another sleepless night staring at the cracked ceiling.

He felt terrible, leading Wong into this, having him wrapped around his finger. The man was clearly besotted beyond belief, like he could drown in it. Stephen knew the feeling all too well.

After Imei, after Sara -- Wong just wanted to be loved. They were so tired of tragedies.

For the first time ever, Stephen Strange hoped he fell in love. He hoped he could lay himself bare before this man, open his heart and chuck his ring down a river. 

Wong is so good. He is so good and he couldn’t bear to ruin one more good thing.

Magic was dead, the Vishanti couldn’t hear him. He still prayed for it. 


End file.
